


dilaudid

by Ejunkiet



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Caffeine Overdose, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Investigative Journalism, Second Kiss, and a third, research buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6540541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn’t the first time Frank has shown up on her doorstep in the early hours of the morning, but this is the first time that he’d been extended an invitation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dilaudid

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt fill! Find me at my main tumblr, ejunkiet.

This isn’t the first time Frank has shown up on her doorstep in the early hours of the morning, but this is the first time that he’d been extended an invitation.

He looks almost awkward standing there on her doorstep, dark cap pulled low over his eyes as they scan the halls. She had been ready by the door, one eye on the watch at her wrist as it ticked closer to the time she had set, and he hadn’t kept her waiting, appearing on the stoop just as the minute hand reached the hour.

He doesn’t bother to knock, just glances to where he can see her shadow through the light under the door, and waits for her to unlatch it, slipping into the apartment when she finally gets it open. He moves to the window to check the street as she resets the latch and clicks on the chain, and when she turns back to face him, his eyes are on her, dark and steady, considering.

“I got your message.”

It was always a little gratifying to know that he still read her articles in the Bulletin. “Thank you for coming.”

He inclines his head in a nod. “This about the Lindon case?”

Her lips twist into a frown. “Yeah.” 

It wasn’t often that her work and Frank’s aligned, but this story had taken a darker turn a few days ago when the family of one of the whistle blowers had been murdered, executioner style. 

He nods again, removing his cap and running his hands through the dark crop of his hair, freshly trimmed by the look of it. She holds out a hand and he hands her the cap, releasing a short, harsh breath. “Okay. What’s the brief?”

“I’ve got the profiles of the men that are currently in custody, and the members of the company that were going to be damaged by the story. We need to find the connection.”

He grimaces, taking in the mess of papers scattered across her tiny little apartment, and she releases a soft laugh, tangling her fingers through her hair as she takes in the scope of the challenge before them.

“I know. Profiles on the table, background on the bed.” She gestures at the stacks of files on her coffee table, the old news prints that litter her bed-turned-makeshift-desk. “Pick a pile and make yourself at home: this is going to take all night.” 

A few hours later finds them both crammed onto her little sofa, close enough that their knees brushed every time she shifted on the cushion, fighting the old springs in an effort to find a comfortable position. The coffee table is littered with case files and handwritten sticky notes, a combination of her looping cursive and Frank’s tightly controlled script, and she’s well into her second pot of coffee, with no end in sight.

She leans forward to snag another file from the table, and groans at the ache in her back, her muscles stiff and sore after so many hours spent bent in the same position. She tilts her head back and rolls her shoulders in a stretch, arching until something in her back pops, and she lets out a sigh of relief.

His breath hitches, and she glances back to find his eyes on her, appreciative as they trace the line of her throat, the curve of her body. His eyes snap to back to meet her gaze, his fingers twitching at his sides, his eyes dark and unreadable, and it sends a thrill through her.

This thing, whatever it was between them, had been building for a while; drawing her to him just as he was drawn to her. It’s magnetism, gravity; two objects locked in orbit around each other.

Looking at him now, she can see that he feels it too; she sees it in the way his gaze traces her features, lingering on her eyes, her lips.

She has her secrets, and he has his, but they’re honest with each other – and in a city that’s filled with so much violence and death and  _lies_ , she finds a comfort in his company that she’d never expected, hadn’t looked for. At the heart of it, she knows she can trust him.

And so, in this moment, she makes a decision: that she will go through with this, whatever this is.

When she returns to her seat and angles her knees to face him, she sits closer, their knees pressing together as she leans into his space. Her heart is in her throat as she presses a soft kiss against his cheek, and it skips a beat as he raises a hand to her face, a thumb smoothing across her cheekbone. His eyes flicker between hers, dark and unreadable as he lets out a breath, and all she can smell is coffee and smoke and the sharp metallic scent that she’s learned to associate with Frank.

He hesitates, and she releases a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and glances away.

Fuck.

She wants to apologize, ask him if he wants to stop, as it wasn’t her intention to pressure him into something he wasn’t ready for, but he’s moving before she gets the chance to speak, muttering something that sounds a lot like ‘fuck it’ as he closes the distance between them  and captures her mouth with his.

It’s not a gentle kiss; his mouth is hot and demanding, his lips chapped and rough, almost punishing as they move against her own. She gives back as good as she gets, though, and they’re both breathless when he breaks away and takes her face between his palms again.

The second time is gentler, slower, taking the time to map out the lines of her mouth, and she makes an involuntary noise when he pulls back, breath hot against her cheek.

His eyes skate across her features, and he presses a kiss against the bridge of her nose, the curve of her cheek, as if he can’t help himself. “Karen.”

Her name sounds strange on his lips, spoken slowly and carefully, as if he is tasting it, learning the shape of it. She can feel his restraint in the way his hands tremble from where they’ve dropped to rest against her throat, and she wraps her fingers into his collar and yanks him back down to her, tangling her fingers into his hair.  

The kiss doesn’t remain chaste for long after that.

He breaks away too soon, leaving her breathless and aching, and she clings to the front of his shirt, unwilling to let him go of him completely, not just yet.

“ _Karen_.” His hand threads through the back of her hair, and he continues, low and soft, “you need to know, that even if we do this – you can still walk away.” He huffs out a laugh. “You probably should. I’m not good for you. I’m not good for anyone, not anymore.”

She releases her grip on his shirt to bring her hands to his face. They're trembling but her touch is sure, firm as she tilts his head towards her and meets his gaze.

“I’m pretty sure that’s my choice to make, Frank.”

There’s not much time left for conversation after that.

 


End file.
